Requiem
by AllThatsLeftMe
Summary: New Moon AU: Ten years after the Cullens' departure, tragedy brings Bella back to Forks. As Bella mourns, she must come to terms with her past. Slowly Bella realizes that NOTHING is as it seems.
1. All Wrong

Years pass and people change. This is a simple fact of life. I know, because I've changed a great deal over the past decade. I'm hardly the girl I once was. Sometimes I struggle with whether or not this is a good thing. More often than not I concede that it is very good for me. Once I was naïve and foolish—and happy. Now I'm wise beyond my years and safe, all too aware that happiness is fodder for fairytales and the silly girls who don't stay far, far away from them. Girls just like me when I was a child.

My life is no fairytale, though it could have been once. I thought it was going to be, anyway. But I had to let go of all that; I kissed all thoughts of immortals and golden eyes and icy kisses and butterflies in my stomach and fragrant meadows and promises of forever goodbye.

I grew up and tried to forget. And I did the hardest thing I ever had to: live.

X

Sometimes when I'm lying in bed at night with his head on my stomach, I cheat and think of Edward. In those early morning hours, still with the darkness and chill of nighttime, I convince myself that it's okay to think of him now and then. It's the grown up and healthy thing to do, to wade through my emotions and face all the pain. Only it hurts too much to be healthy.

I picture him laughing, his sensual lips creased up in a smile I would never forget, in various places: hiking up a grand mountain in chase of a bear with Emmett; resting in a field with plush grass and never-ending flowers; lying with another woman, their perfect limbs wrapped up together on satin sheets. Most of the time I imagine him somewhere in the sun, his opal-colored flesh glistening, with me beside him, running my fingertips across his skin so cold it burns.

There are times I miss him so much that I can hardly get out of bed. The illusion of a life I've created seems more hollow than usual on those days. Greg knows vaguely that I loved and lost back in high school and is very good about giving me space. I snort at the image he probably has in his head: me, awkward and in love with a quarterback, or a track star, or another immature womanizer. He has no idea of the life I lived in Forks. He is so open and honest with me that occasionally I get the urge to tell him everything. It's more that I want to tell _someone _to prove to myself it actually happened. That it wasn't just a dream.

But Greg can never know. He is rational, sensible. There are no shades of grey in Greg's world, no lurking monsters in the shadows. He wouldn't be able to wrap his head around it, about the almost frightening love I felt once for a beautiful man and his family. He would never be able to comprehend my devotion and the ever-present thoughts of golden eyes and cool hands that plague my mind almost constantly.

Tonight, however, thoughts of Charlie creep in despite my best efforts to keep them out. I struggle to hold on to the image of Edward's face, which never fails to send a sharp tearing of pain through my chest, a pain more welcome than the one I'm trying to push away. My flawless memory of Edward's face burns me tonight, of course, but then once again Charlie's trusting face flashes behind my eyes and a foreign, almost suffocating hopelessness slithers in. Now I wish I had taken the sedative.

Desperately I try to shut off my thoughts. My doctor tells me sometimes focusing on the relaxation of parts of my body will aid in falling asleep. Tonight, Greg's head feels heavy and my legs are restless beneath the too-hot covers. I sigh while attempting to move my legs around a bit without waking him up.

"What are you thinking about?" Greg's voice is raspy with disrupted sleep.

I stroke his hair. "Did I wake you?"

The question is stupid and the answer obvious, but it's something to say.

Instead of answering, he nuzzles into the softness of my stomach. He hums in contentment, vibrating against my skin and making me shiver.

We are silent, but just as I'm positive he's asleep, he speaks. "Are you all right?"

His voice is so genuinely concerned and exuding love that I look down at him. His eyes are shining, lit up by the Fork Motel's lights filtering through the cheap blinds. It is during moments like this that I'm overcome by the depth of his love. It's not an illusion, or a cheesy fairytale, or unbelievable by any means. I _know_ he loves me. I'm not a distraction, or a toy, or an experiment. To Greg, I'm just Bella. He'll never really know how grateful I am for that.

"Touch me." My voice is a whisper, but it is certain.

Greg shifts so he is sitting. "I don't think that's a good idea right now."

I know why he thinks so, and in my more reasonable moments I'd agree with him. But now, back in Forks and in this crummy hotel, I need something. I want to hurt, and this is the best way I can think of going about it. I also want to be touched, to feel real, to know I'm loved. A brief thought crosses my mind, a terrible accusation from my conscience that I'm using Greg, but I shut it up. We all use one another, after all. I would know.

I touch his bare chest, grazing the swells of his subtle muscles and hating myself for imagining someone else's.

"Please." I hate begging, but I'm certainly not above it. "I need it."

And like with everything else, Greg cannot deny me.

We connect in the darkness, and it's not long before we finish.

Greg's hands clutch me to him as I cry, staring into the shadows. His arms are warm, the weight of his hands are familiar. But I cry harder because they are the wrong arms, the wrong hands.

It's all wrong.

X

The rain is my punishment the day Charlie is buried. Its droplets are piercing cold and relentless. I have left my hair down to frizz, aware that I'll look as ugly as I feel. The writer in me is almost pleased with the poetic justice.

Today I have taken a sedative, prompted by Greg and my own emotions. My eyes are swollen and I've never felt so tired. Or so numb. I concentrate on my expensive heels occasionally digging into the mud and the uncomfortable pressure of heavy raindrops that fall on the sections Greg's umbrella doesn't cover.

Jacob is there, staring at me from across Charlie's grave. He looks lost and regretful, but I don't care. I don't care about much of anything at the moment. I look away, but Billy's intense eyes capture my attention. He, too, looks remorseful, but he also looks like he has something to say. The rest of the pack, including Sam, stand to the side of Jacob and his father. They look distracted, peering around as though some presence were lurking behind the forgotten gravestones. I wonder if it's just habit, but their tense postures alert me it's something more. My curiosity is stirred minutely, but then I sigh and look down at my hands.

The priest is droning on about eternal life and I have to fight the urge to giggle when I think of the Cullens. The pills certainly make me loopy. Had the Cullens heard my father died? Had they learned _how_? Did they know about Renee?

Did they even care?

I feel Greg's lips cooled by the weather on my cheek, alerting me that the funeral is over. People are suddenly before me with clammy hands, offering their condolences and eyeing me like I'm about to have a very large, messy breakdown. Perhaps the only person I'm fooling is myself.

Billy folds around my hand tightly when he makes his way up to me. His hand is warm, reminding me of his son's warm skin. I shiver. "Please come by, Bella, before you leave town." Hesitantly but defiantly, he wraps his other hand around my forearm. His grasp is almost desperate. I stare deeply into his eyes, finding myself interested in spite of myself.

The years have not been good to Billy Black, but he's still technically healthy. The consuming worry he's born over the years is written plainly across his face. His eyes are tired and yellowed, dull with age and too many problems. Still, kindness and concern shines through and I find myself nodding.

"Thank you." His words are so silent that I cannot hear them over the rain, but I read his lips. "Come soon. It's important."

He wheels away, ignoring his son who is hovering nearby. I'm dreading a conversation. Greg must pick up on the tension, though he has no idea about the particulars, because he leads us to his car. By the time I'm seated in the passenger seat, Jacob is gone.

As Greg jogs around to his side of the car, I see a flicker of white in the distance.

It's just a blur, and it could be anything. But the tingles in my previously numb body tell me otherwise.

"Do you want something to eat?" Greg asks.

Never taking my eyes off of where the blur had been, I shake my head. Part of me wants to get out and investigate. Another part of me wants to get out and scream and scream and rage against the rain that has turned to ice.

But a much larger part of me denies what I've seen. I'm silent and still as we drive away, leaving my father and the rest of the past behind.


	2. NeverEnding Nothing

When we arrive at the hotel, I'm somehow able to make it to our room without collapsing into a heap of tears.

Greg, ever understanding and wonderful, gently leads me to the bathroom. Without a word he turns the knobs and softly undresses me. I watch him, marveling at his selflessness. There is not even a hint of sensuality as he deftly unbuttons my blouse, pulls down my skirt, removes my underclothes, and places me beneath the warm spray. He is fulfilling his role perfectly as my caretaker, my friend, and I am regarding him like an awed child. I wonder with a sad heart if that is all I've ever be able to give him.

He steps in behind me, naked and patient. His hands caress me, the skin rough from years of hard work. Soap suds cover the both of us and I would laugh at our innocence if I was positive it wouldn't turn to sobs.

His hands shampoo me and then bring me close to him. It dawns on me that he's rubbing my back soothingly and murmuring to me like I'm a lost child. I hadn't realized I'd been crying.

Wordlessly he brings me out of the shower with him and dries me off carefully with the towel, treating me delicately as though I'm covered in bruises.

We head to bed together but I don't sleep. Instead I wait for Greg's reassuring snores before I creep over to the window where the streetlights faintly shine through.

I'm not positive I want to do this, to admit defeat and weakness like this, but I do it anyway.

With two fingers I separate the blinds and peer outside.

The parking lot is practically empty, and there is no contrite vampire standing in the drizzle. Not that I expect him to be there, but I have to look, just to be sure. I stare for a few minutes, lingering on the shifting shadows and darkened crevices, but no one appears.

I pull the blinds shut even tighter than before and step away. I bury myself in Greg's arms, though I know sleep won't come for hours.

X

I haven't dreamt of Edward in years. Mostly my dreams are void of anything too deep these days. In light of being back in town, I'm not entirely surprised that I dream of him tonight, but I'm not used to the pain anymore. For years I lived in complacent, comfortable avoidance. Now, it seems everything has caught up to me.

"Bella!"

The voice reaches through the darkness of my nightmare. My eyes pop open to Greg shaking me.

"You were having a nightmare…"

"I'm sorry," I say automatically, feeling embarrassed. I haven't had a nightmare like this since a little after Greg and I started dating. I can't remember any of it—just that it was about Edward. And that it hurt. Staring back at Greg, I wonder if I said Edward's name. I'm not worried he will bring it up, though it will burn, but I'm afraid of hurting him.

Greg doesn't appear hurt. He just looks worried, and more than a little tired. "Are you okay now?"

"Yes. Go back to sleep."

He protests for a few moments but then his face is back into the crook of my neck. I focus on his hot breath on my skin and the faint rapping of the light rain on the window. It doesn't lull me back to sleep, but it helps relax me. I stay that way until dawn, thinking of anything but forgotten piano melodies and icy kisses.

X

Morning has always been my least favorite time of the day, and it's no different today as Greg tries every approach possible to rouse me. I must have passed out somewhere around 5AM. A glare at the alarm clock tells me it's around 8. It's much too early for me to be up and functioning, but Greg is insistent. We're leaving for New York in two days and there is much to be done.

The most important thing is cleaning out Charlie's house.

Greg silently hands me my coffee cup with a rueful smile. I know he hates waking me; I get such little sleep as it is. I manage to muster up a little smile in return for him, though I wish I could give him a great deal more.

"We should probably head over now," he says, watching me for a reaction.

Though I've always been careful when telling Greg about my past, I have always found myself unable to leave out descriptions of Charlie's house, especially my bedroom. It's funny, considering I grew up in Phoenix, but I have always considered Charlie's house to be my "childhood home". Perhaps it is because it's where I spent a great deal of time with Edward. Perhaps it was the first, and last, time I ever felt home anywhere. I'll never know, but I do know this is going to be painful.

But it also could be good for me. A sense of closure, maybe.

"Yes," I hear myself telling him, standing to get dressed. "Give me a half hour."

Greg is surprised by my response, no doubt, but he says nothing. Instead he lays a comforting hand on my shoulder and a fluttering kiss on my forehead.

I watch as he changes into a more comfortable shirt and puts on some sneakers. His body is fit, well-known. He is the second man I've ever been with, my third boyfriend, but I could see myself spending the rest of my life with him. He takes care of me; he never hassles or pressures me. He doesn't know my past, and never will, but that's fine because for some strange, crazy reason, he understands me anyway. He gets it, and me, without me having to say a word.

He looks up and catches my appraising stare. Mischievously he grins, misinterpreting my thoughts. I can see lust in his eyes but I also see the love and concern that always live there, the emotions that haunt me. He loves me but there's nothing I can give him. I don't deserve him. I never did. Though staying with him for life would be comfortable for me, it would be unfair to him.

But I always have been a selfish creature.

X

My childhood home looks more or less the same as it did when I left 10 years before. The grass is a little unkempt, and a few shutters definitely need to be replaced, but I experience a comforting déjà-vu moment as I stare at it. For a moment, I feel like Young Bella again and the warmth that feeling brings me is the closest thing to happy I've experienced in a long time.

A rough hand takes mine, pulling me back into the present. I look over at the strange man belonging to it, startled for a moment. Then I remember and smile weakly at Greg. Any and all pleasant tingling of a time I knew what it meant to feel completely human is gone.

"Lost in memories?" he asks knowingly.

I don't have to answer.

The inside is musty, as I figured it would be. Charlie had never been much of a housekeeper. Guilt overwhelms me when I think about all the opportunities I had to come visit him over the years. He came out to New York a few times, but I know how hard that was for him. More than anything, Charlie loved being home.

The living room is the same. Renee and Charlie's wedding picture is still there, though a great deal dustier and sadder than the last time I saw it. My eyes catch on the remote, left beside a dirty glass on the coffee table. Tears are inevitable today, but I refuse to cry yet.

"Do you want to finish the rest tomorrow?" Greg asks, taking a box from me.

"No," I say. "I want to get this done by tonight."

Then the tears fall without warning, despite my vow to not cry until much, much later. Greg holds me, offering the solace of his warm body. After a few moments, I pull away and rub my cheeks. I'm disgusted with myself for being so emotional. Greg eyes me while I attack the kitchen, picking up stray newspapers and random containers Charlie's left behind. He helps me silently and we're done with the kitchen and living room in just an hour. As much as it relieves me that Charlie had few possessions, it also fills me with immeasurable sadness. He, too, was living a shell of a life, with everything around him being merely props.

As I peruse the rest of the house, I see nothing inside has changed at all. Not surprisingly, either, my room looks just as it did the last time I left it. I hesitantly sit on my bed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. It feels as though I've literally just stepped through a time warp.

I hear Greg moving downstairs, figuring he's begun to pack away some of the things we're keeping. I know I should start sorting out my room but the strength won't come.

The warm, prickling sensation of being watched comes back to me again and I look around, expecting someone to be in the corner or in the closet. But a quick walk-through assures me I'm as alone as I've ever been.

Then I trip on something and land on my knee. I yelp in pain before I can stop myself and Greg calls out my name. I open my mouth to answer but something catches my eye.

A floorboard is poking up. This is obviously what I tripped on. I don't remember it being this way when I left, and the ten inches of dust over everything assures me Charlie never came in here to clean.

Curious, I crawl closer to it and examine it. It seems like it's been pulled open and carelessly put back. I reach out to touch it, wondering if perhaps something is buried beneath it when a hand grasps my shoulder.

I scream out and fall back, but then I see it's only Greg.

Who else would it be?

"Bella, I've been calling your name. Did you hurt yourself?"

We both look down and see the little scrape on my knee and the obvious beginnings of a bruise. Greg sighs, not impatient but amused. "We've only been here for ten, fifteen minutes tops and you've already hurt yourself."

I smile at him but my thoughts are focused on the floorboard. Is there something beneath it? I have to find out. _Something_ inside of me must know _now_.

"Could you get me some ice?" I ask. Greg doesn't notice the anxiety in my voice and quickly heads downstairs.

Staring at the board, I curse myself for thinking of the Cullens as I wonder if they have something to do with it. I can't just accept it as a loose board, and the impulse to think this way drives me nuts. Will I ever be able to stop imagining them?

I put the thoughts out of my head. I don't have enough time.

I gather my courage and pull away the board to discover… nothing.

Nothing's there.

This is becoming a habit.

The whole thing is so anticlimactic that I start to giggle. I can't stop, not even when Greg runs in and stares at me. He says things to me but I can't hear. Tears stream down my face, but all the while the laughter goes on and on.

It just won't stop.


	3. Damned

An important chapter. Thanks to everyone that's reading. Please tell me what you think.

X

"Bella."

Ice cold fingers bursh my cheeks, leaving behind burning tingles in their trail. The shock of their frigidity and the low murmur of my name slowly bring me out of the haziness of sleep. My eyes adjust to the darkness as the fingers roam once more.

"Edward?"

My voice is uncertain. Am I dreaming? Squinting, I try to determine whether or not I'm in his arms. Was everything a terrible, horrible nightmare?

But no. I reach up and feel the scruff of Greg's unshaven chin. It was all too real.

"I thought—"

"Shhh." Greg presses his lips against my forehead. The window is open, letting the night's harsh breeze into the bedroom. His skin is cold to the touch and I find myself longing for his usual warmth to drive away the lingering sensations of my dream. "You were having a nightmare."

A nightmare? Part of me agrees.

Greg rocks me back and forth on top of my old bed silently. Normally this would soothe me, but not tonight. Tonight I cannot easily forget my dreams and pretend that Edward is merely an elusive ghost of my past. It was just so _real_.

In this dream we are back in our meadow, lying in the sun. We are both touching each other, both laughing, both happy. Both sparkling.

The yearning has carried over into my consciousness, leaving me hollow in the arms of a man who is most assuredly not Edward. Anger I've stifled over the years threatens to show itself, but I can't let that happen when Greg is near.

"What time is it?" I ask, sleep and strain still haunting my voice.

Greg illuminates his cell phone. "A little after seven."

"I wasted the whole day."

He kisses my hand. "We got a lot done. I was thinking we might be able to leave tomorrow night."

The thought of leaving Forks ignites a sudden sense of panic within me. "We'll see," I say as evenly as possible. "I'm hungry. Do you think you could go pick us up something?"

Greg thankfully agrees and is off, leaving me on my own to sort myself out.

I pour myself a glass of water, shaking as I lift the glass to my parched lips. I knew coming to Forks was a huge mistake, but I couldn't miss Charlie's funeral. He was the only parent I had, the only person who knew the truth—the _whole_ truth about me and loved me, regardless.

And I couldn't ignore that long dormant part of me, that slice of myself that longed and would always long for Forks and all its connotations, the good and evil.

A picture placed haphazardly on the fridge catches my attention and I pause to give it another look. Numbly I realize it's a picture of Charlie and Billy, with a much younger and more jovial-looking Jake in the background. Billy's smiling face reminds me that I promised him I would stop by. He seemed so intent on getting me over to La Push that briefly I can't help but wonder if it was a ploy, something Jacob convinced him to do. But then I remember the seriousness in his eyes, the intensity that assured me this was important.

I'm seized with a rabid desire the second time during the day to find out just what was behind that stare. I don't know if it has anything to do with Edward, but I know it's something I would want to know. Billy never really did me wrong, even though his tribe screwed me royally.

Strumming my fingers against the counter, I weigh my options. Naturally I can't bring Greg with me. Anything to do with Billy and La Push has a supernatural element to it.

I glance at the clock. Greg left about ten minutes ago. Do I have the time to run over there without Greg getting suspicious?

Before I lose my temporary flare of bravery, I quickly call a cab and grab a piece of paper. Barely conscious of what I'm doing, my thoughts mainly focused on getting to and from La Push, I scribble a message on it.

_Went to visit an old friend. Be back soon. _

Without a second glance I'm out the door and headed towards the dark unknown.

X

"I didn't think you'd come." Billy idly runs his spoon through the cup of tea, looking more like a superstitious old woman than a respected elder as he hunches over timidly. His eyes, however, regard me shrewdly with a wisdom far greater than most.

"I said I would," I respond, a little petulantly.

I've been sitting across from him over his rickety old table, thinking of Greg's reaction when he comes home to an empty house, for more than twenty minutes already. I'm also a little anxious that Jake might walk in, though he certainly doesn't live with his father anymore.

Billy sips his tea thoughtfully. I glance quickly at the clock, regretting my hasty decision with each sweep of the its hand. Finally he speaks.

"I want to tell you how… sorry I am about Charlie."

"You didn't kill him," I point out. "It's no one's fault but my own. He just… I told him too much. The stress was too much on his heart, and eventually…"

He doesn't disagree with me vocally, but I see the disagreement in his eyes and the firm line of his wrinkled mouth. "Time is running out. Let me get to the point. I'm sure the strange behavior of the pack at Charlie's funeral didn't escape your attention."

The shiver up my spine is unavoidable.

"No," I whisper, "no, it didn't."

Billy nods. "I saw you watching them. They don't want to tell you about it just yet, but I know you'd want to know. They just don't want you frightened, and to be honest, they're more than a little scared themselves."

Cold dread shoots through my chest and stomach. The pack isn't afraid of the Cullens, nor are they afraid of any random vampire. The only vampire they've ever met that's been able to evade them time after time, leaving incomprehensible damage after each encounter, is the only one who truly poses a threat to me anymore.

Victoria.

I stand, hardly noticing that I knock over my glass of water. "No," I declare forcefully, as though the strength in my voice will somehow stay a murderous vampire out for my blood. "They were positive that—"

"They were wrong. Jacob, especially. He was so caught up in his relationship with you that he wasn't paying close enough attention." Billy pauses, not for dramatic effect but because the next words are going to be positively horrifying. "She escaped."

Thoughtlessly I sink back into the chair. I struggle force my words out. "Did she… Is she responsible for Charlie's death?"

Sighing, Billy shrugs. "Who can tell? The coroner's report still stands that it was a heart attack. The boys didn't get a whiff of her until right before his funeral, but that's not exactly telling… They picked up the scent of other vampires, as well."

I shake my head, remembering her ruthlessness in our last confrontation. "I'm surprised she didn't kill him before, but I don't think she killed him now. If the thought occurred to her, she probably would have taken care of it already." I inhale deeply and exhale slowly, trying to calm the tangled thoughts fighting for attention in my head. "This course probably _didn't_ occur to her. She was probably certain, after our last… face to face, that I wouldn't ever return."

Billy neither agrees nor disagrees; he merely sips his tea and stares at the clock, possibly anticipating Victoria's wrathful appearance at any moment. I try to squash the cowardly urge to hop up and run as far away as fast as possible. Even if I were to give in to that particular fantasy, it wouldn't end well. If Victoria were outside, she'd overtake me in an instant. If Jacob and his furry pals decided to stop me, they'd have me in two instants. It simply wasn't worth running anymore.

We're quiet for a few moments, lost in thoughts of werewolves and pale vampires that lurk in the shadows. Now, if confronted with Victoria, I'm not positive I would run anymore. Not, mind you, because I'm suddenly a superhero with no fear, but because I'm exhausted. I'm tired of running, of hiding, of looking over my shoulder. I'm tired of fake promises of safety and of brushes with the undead and the unnatural. If these are my cards, let the game play on.

"Are they outside?" I ask suddenly, wondering if Jake and the rest of the pack are hiding in the trees.

"Probably," Billy says with a small smile. "They're not letting you out of their sight, no matter how awkward the circumstances may be."

Billy's words trigger memories of Greg and I together and stupidly I blush. "Is that all you wanted to tell me?" I ask hastily, eager to get leave.

I start to stand but his hand reaches out to grab my wrist, much like when we were at the funeral. "Please, Bella. There's more. Please."

Reluctantly, I sit. My cell phone vibrates in my pocket for the second time, and without glancing at it I'm sure it's Greg. "My boyfriend's waiting. He'll wonder where I am."

In an uncharacteristic move, Billy hesitates. He obviously deliberates with what he wants to say for a few minutes before meeting my eyes once again. "Does he know anything about this?"

"Of course not," I scoff.

"Because it's dangerous?"

"Yes."

"Isabella," Billy says softly, "do you think it's wise for you to be with him?"

"Yes," I shoot back immediately. "I'd die without him… I'd be dead already."

"You're risking his life just being with him." Billy's voice isn't accusatory; honestly, it's patient and kind. He sounds like a worried father.

He's right, but that doesn't mean I can accept that.

Like I said, I am most certainly a selfish girl.

"Hardly," I snap, though my response is not only wrong, it sounds immature and nonsensical.

Billy's hands clench into fists at my tone, but his face and voice remain calm. "Everything and everyone that was once yours has been taken. All that's left is him."

After those ominous words, Billy watches me cautiously like I'm about to jump up and pummel him or something. I would like to because I unfairly and wrongly blame him for this entire ordeal. But then I give it some thought and realize I only have myself to blame.

Edward didn't know the half of it when he labeled me a danger-magnet all those years ago.

The casual thought pops into my head, but my response is anything but. The jagged snap of pain rips a hole in my chest as I think back to Edward's teases.

"You're right," I whisper brokenly. "I just don't know I'm supposed to lose anyone else."

"I know," Billy says, patting my hand. Again he seems like the father I never really had, and I'm unsettled by this. Billy was never all that warm to me to start with. I'm still debating when Billy utters the words that seal the deal: "But it's the right thing to do."

The Right Thing. How that concept has haunted me.

"You must decide what you're going to do, and fast. Afterwards you need to come here until it all blows over."

I hunch over the table, balling my hands into fists and rubbing them against my eyes like a tired child. "I'll take care of it."

"I knew you'd do the right thing, Bella."

X

It's absolutely pouring by the time I make it back to Charlie's house. I sit in the car I borrowed from Billy, staring at the site of so much good and bad.

Greg's car is parked neatly in the driveway and the lights in the living room are on. I can just barely make out his shape through the blurring rain and the gauzy curtains. He is pacing, anxiously awaiting my arrival. My heart aches for him. I'm going to really hurt him, shatter him after everything he's done for me. Selfishly I ponder who will hurt worse in this situation; I'm not in love with Greg, but I do _need_ him. Desperately.

My phone vibrates again and I decide it's time to get it over with.

I run through the rain, managing to get thoroughly drenched, anyway.

"Bella!" Greg yells, running towards me the moment I stumble inside.

Despite my state, he hugs me close to his chest. "Where the hell have you been?"

He's furious with me, for truly the first time, and I can't blame him.

"I'm sorry."

He pulls back to look down at me. "_Sorry_?" His face is red and splotchy. "Sorry? I've been driving myself crazy for the past two hours, imagining all these terrible scenarios, and all you can offer me is 'sorry'?"

I touch his face and some of his anger melts. I know that his fury is really because of his fear for me, and this cuts me even deeper than before. How much of him loves me and how much of him feels responsible for me? So many of my relationships originated from misguided assumptions of responsibility.

Billy's right. I have to set him free, not even because of the impeding danger, but because I've used him in such a horrible way.

I open my mouth to begin the awkward speech I've been running through my head since driving away from Billy's, but Greg cuts me off with a savage kiss. His lips are almost brutal against mine and I take a moment to lose myself in the uncommon feeling of Greg letting go.

Finally he frees me and steps back. "Tell me where you were."

"Visiting an old friend. An old friend of Charlie's, actually," I gasp, trying to catch my breath.

"I gathered that much from your note." Greg's face brightens as a thought comes to him. "It was that guy from the funeral, right? In the wheelchair?"

I just stare at him.

"Answer me!"

"We have to talk, Greg," I announce in the steadiest, flattest voice I can manage. "I think I want to stay here."

Greg looks stunned. "But we have to get back to our—"

"I want to stay here by myself." The words burn on their way out. It's not lost on me that this is eerily paralleling the scene that's tormented me over the years.

"What?" Greg's voice is smooth and low, and, quite frankly, a little scary.

"I—"

"Absolutely not. What's going on? You can tell me. I see the anxiety written all over you."

Shit. His face is no longer angry, or hurt, or disbelieving. He now looks concerned and much too curious.

Knowing I'm taking a gamble with this, I hesitantly whisper: "It's not safe as long as you're here."

"Bella." Greg's eyes blaze into mine. He's not backing down.

And just like that, the exhaustion and fear take over and I start sobbing heavily for the second time in one day.

"Tell me," Greg commands, taking me into the strong, warm arms I know I can't live without.

"We have to get out of here. Now. Forget all this stuff. We won't make it if we don't leave _this second_."

Greg says nothing as he hurriedly grabs his wallet and keys. Our hands clasp together tightly, and while we walk out into the damning downpour, I silently beg Billy and Renee and Charlie and any god out there to forgive me. I'm just too selfish.

But I should have known that it wouldn't work out, that I was destined to fail.

Standing in front of Greg's car, effectively blocking us from any kind of escape, are the seven people I longed and dreaded to see the most.

Immediately my eyes are caught in the most important one's unyielding gaze, as strong and as binding as ever, despite the years between us and the blinding drops of rain that separate us now.

Greg shouts my name, but I can barely hear him over the screams in my head. Somehow, however, I'm aware that I've damned him as surely as I've damned myself and anyone else unfortunate enough to come across my path.

Staring back at Edward, damnation never felt so wonderful.


End file.
